(KBTCM) Ch 14: Hammer Of The God Of Fire, A Marriage Of Politics!

(Kerren) The green tree bathed the grove in a warm, flickering glow as the mist began to thin. Sylara, now reclining comfortably on her side

(Kerren)

The green tree bathed the grove in a warm, flickering glow as the mist began to thin. Sylara, now reclining comfortably on her side, traced lazy circles in the dirt with her fingertip, while Rowena sat with her arms draped over her knees, legs folded like a colossus at rest. Kerren still leaned back against the tree, his hammer beside him like a loyal beast.

"So... about the hammer," Sylara said, raising an eyebrow at Kerren. "You promised us a long story."

Rowena leaned in a bit too, playful curiosity dancing in her eyes.

Kerren smirked and gave a soft shrug. "Alright, you asked for it. So... my family—we're followers of Orndrak. You know, god of the forge, wielder of the eternal flame, all that good stuff."

Rowena blinked. "Orndrak? That's a name I haven't heard in a while."

Sylara tilted her head, intrigued. "Isn't he the one with the beard made of molten steel?"

"That's the one," Kerren said, nodding. "He's big in our household. Has been for generations. It's tradition that when someone in the family comes of age, they forge their own hammer, it's gotta be made by your own two hands, no help allowed."

He patted the side of his hammer with a kind of reverence. "This one took me three months, seven burns, and one very angry goose to finish."

Rowena blinked. "Did... did you say goose?"

"It's a long story," Kerren said, holding up a finger and grinning. "Let's just say poultry and molten metal don't mix."

Sylara actually let out a snort. "Sounds like your family is almost as weird as ours."

"Almost," Rowena added with a mock-serious nod. "We did have a pet thunderbird for a week. Ate half the royal stables before mother let it go."

Kerren blinked. "And I'm the one with the goose problem?"

"Giant problems are just scaled-up normal problems," Sylara said with a smirk.

Rowena laughed, then slowly stood, brushing off her hands. "As much as I'd love to stay and chat more, we really should get going. We need to be ready for tomorrow."

Sylara stood too, stretching with a thunderous yawn that made a few birds scatter from the treetops. "Right. The whole diplomatic welcome party thing."

Kerren rose to his feet as well, a curious expression on his face. "What's tomorrow?"

Rowena sighed, not unhappily, but with the sort of patience one developed when repeating something for the tenth time. "The Prince of Draymoor arrives. The one our mother thinks I might marry."

Kerren blinked. "Oh. So... wait, this prince guy might be your future husband?"

"Possibly," Rowena said, lifting one massive shoulder in a shrug. "Politics and all that."

Kerren scratched the back of his neck, then looked up and offered a smile. "Well, good luck with that, Princess."

Rowena smiled back. "Thanks. I might need it."

With that, the two giantesses turned, carefully stepping around the sacred grove as they began their walk back toward the kingdom. The mist parted for them like it knew better than to get in the way.

Sylara walked beside her sister, arms behind her head as she strolled. "You know," she said casually, "that little guy's alright."

Rowena's smile turned a touch more genuine. "Yeah. He is. One of the few people I've met who isn't terrified of me."

Sylara snorted. "He probably should be. We did almost level the eastern hill this morning."

"Only because you kicked me through it," Rowena countered, giving her sister a gentle elbow that still left a tree wobbling.

The sisters shared a laugh, the kind that only came from years of sparring and surviving each other.

After a beat, Sylara asked, a bit more seriously, "You ready for tomorrow?"

Rowena paused, looking up at the fading light through the trees. The thought of tomorrow—the prince, the pressure, the endless formalities—usually brought a tightness to her chest. But not tonight. Not after the grove. Not after Kerren.

"With you there?" she said with a smile. "Yeah. I think I will be."

***

Kerren watched in silence as the towering forms of Rowena and Sylara faded between the trees, their enormous footsteps causing distant birds to scatter into the misty skies. The gentle sway of the leaves and the faint thuds of their retreating steps echoed for a moment longer... then all fell quiet.

"She's getting married..." he muttered, voice barely more than a breath.

He let his eyes linger on the last spot he'd seen her, then slumped back against the moss-covered roots of the glowing tree. His hammer rested beside him, one hand lazily draped over its handle. The branches above shifted with the wind, filtering green and gold light onto his face.

He stared upward. His chest felt oddly tight.

"Good for her," he said, trying to sound convincing—even to himself.

With a long exhale, he closed his eyes, letting the gentle pulse of the forest lull him toward sleep.

***

Meanwhile...

The sound of hooves on stone echoed through the narrow pass leading toward the kingdom of Vaeloria. A dozen banners bearing the gold wyvern of Draymoor flapped in the wind. At the head of the procession rode a man clad in deep crimson armor etched with silver. His hair was dark, his eyes sharp, and his smirk even sharper.

Prince Kaelor Thorne.

He pulled the reins slightly, causing his obsidian stallion to slow just enough for his knights to gather tighter behind him. He looked ahead, eyes fixed on the peaks beyond which the fabled city of Vaeloria lay.

"So this is the land of the giants," Kaelor said, his voice smooth and dripping with self-satisfaction. "Home of the great Princess Rowena."

One of his knights, Sir Darron, a bearded older man who'd long since grown used to the prince's arrogance, cleared his throat. "They say she's tall enough to crush a warhorse without even noticing."

Kaelor scoffed. "Then it's a good thing I'm not a warhorse."

The knights chuckled behind him, though Darron merely rolled his eyes.

"No woman—no matter how massive—can resist a true prince," Kaelor continued, brushing imaginary dust off his polished breastplate. "By the time I'm done charming her, she'll be begging me to stay. And when I tame her, when she kneels—gods, the symbolism writes itself!"

Another knight, younger and clearly still in awe of the prince, laughed. "And what of her kingdom, my lord?"

Kaelor's smile turned wicked. "Vaeloria will follow her. And once she's mine, so too is her throne. This alliance will not just be of blood—it will be conquest. Gentle, noble conquest."

The knights didn't cheer, but they didn't disagree either.

Kaelor sat up straighter in the saddle. "Come, men! Let's not keep our towering bride-to-be waiting. I've a crown to collect."

The wind whipped against the banners, and the horses pressed forward down the winding road as the stone towers of Vaeloria shimmered on the horizon.